


Letting Off Steam

by SkycladFox



Series: Zootopian Tails [1]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Intimacy, Nudity, Short, play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 07:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16719133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkycladFox/pseuds/SkycladFox
Summary: Everybody has a way of blowing off frustrations; Gazelle and the tigers are no exceptions.





	Letting Off Steam

Within a nondescript building hidden in the quietest part of Savannah Central, Zootopia's brightest musical star was coming to the end of a long and tiring day. Gazelle and her four tiger dancers had spent hours rehearsing and refining a routine for her upcoming arena show, mostly to great success. The last thirty minutes, though, had been an exercise in aggravation.

The photographer was supposed to have turned up at the start of the session, when all were fresh and sharp, but instead had appeared near the end, when all were weary and various degrees of dishevelled. Still, ever the professional, Gazelle hadn't complained, although the tigers had thrown a few dirty looks at the smug, slightly gaudy impala.

Even when he'd produced the outfit for the shoot, a sparkly leotard in a shade of bright green to rival a traffic light, she'd donned it without complaint, if in the privacy of the changing room. She'd given no hint of how deeply uncomfortable it was, pinching and squeezing in all the wrong places, and posed with her usual effortless elegance, the tigers grudgingly flanking her for some shots.

When the impala had made a tasteless, almost leering suggestion for a scenario, however, her tolerance finally ran out. He was politely but firmly requested to leave, while the big cats had bristled. He'd shown no remorse or even any real understanding that he'd transgressed, but did as bid, if a little haughtily, telling her to keep the leotard.

Thus it was the antelope now stood in the middle of the studio, body sagging and head low, waiting for the sound of his undoubtedly flashy car to fade away fully. The very instant it did Gazelle tore the garment off and flung it to the floor, where it was stamped on several times and then kicked across the room for good measure.

“ _Cerdo_!” she spat, fire in her eyes, her paws fisted, her now furclad form quivering; then, eyes widening, she clamped a hand over the end of her muzzle as her ears coloured.

The tigers just laughed, clustering round the antelope, enveloping her in a protective cocoon of strong, warm, stripey bodies. Gazelle giggled faintly herself, the anger draining swiftly out of her, the tension flowing away. She kissed each cat, then playfully waved them back. They took a few reverse steps, until they formed a loose circle around her.

“Well, that could have gone a little better,” she commented, with wry humour. “Shall we cool down and call it a day, mis hermosos gatos?”

The tigers nodded, moving so two stood on each side of her. Gazelle shook her limbs, preparing, then paused, head tilting to one side.

“Raymondo,” she eventually requested, “get your camera. I want to record this. I have things to study.”

The feline in question bobbed his head, then jogged into the changing room; he returned a few seconds later with a fairly large camera; from a cluster of stools in a corner one was selected and positioned in front of the others. Placing the camera atop it, he set it to record then went back to join the group.

Gazelle smiled her thanks, then began to dance. The routine was the same one they'd been honing all day, but at a lesser intensity, steadily decreasing as it went on. Eventually, they segued into simple stretches and bends and twists, before finally drawing to a halt. Gazelle clapped her paws, satisfied, and led the way to the changing room, Raymondo making a detour to collect his camera.

“So, when do we meet again?” another tiger asked, as they entered a space as clean and simple as the studio, with large lockers, benches, tables and a single, large shower booth at the far end.

“Not for a few days, Alfredo; I'll be buried in meetings and interviews until the weekend, and I've a Preyda photoshoot tomorrow evening.” A soft chuckle rose from the antelope as she picked up a drink and took a deep draught. “At least that one's conducted properly.”

Raymondo groaned, putting his camera down on a table. “So you're not going to be at games night. Again.”

Gazelle patted his shoulder. “Don't fret, querido,” she soothed, with a reassuring smile. “I'll be there, I promise.”

Ray slipped out of his shorts, the same plain blue ones all the tigers wore. “I'll hold you to that.”

“After all,” Gazelle teased, bumping his thigh with her hip as he took a drink. “I _have_ to see you wearing that neon superhero outfit when you lose at poker again.” Her smile turned positively wicked. “I hear it suits you _wonderfully_.”

Raymondo spluttered, a little liquid going up his nose, then glowered at the antelope even as his ears heated. “Maybe we ought to see what _you_ look like in it...”

“Funnily enough...” a third tiger eased something from his locker just enough to be seen; it was sleek, stretchy and an eye-watering shade of luminous orange.

Just for a second Gazelle's ears dipped, a look of horror passing across her face, then she crossed her arms over her chest and stared defiantly at the tigers. “You wouldn't dare, Alberto!”

Bert, grinning wickedly, pulled all of the costume free, revealing it to be shorts and crop top with neon purple flashes along the flanks and a blaze of purple in the middle of the chest, a cape shading from one to the other, and a domino mask half one hue, half the other.

Gazelle's jaw fell loose. “Where...did you even...?”

“Doesn't matter.” Alberto paced toward her, holding the horror show of a costume out. “Now kindly hold still...”

The antelope's mouth clacked shut, fire lighting in hazel eyes; a smirk curling her lips, she backed off. “Gotta catch me first, chico.”

Two beefy arms clamped around her chest and waist, pinning her to a muscular form. “Like this?” Raymondo purred.

Gazelle pouted, ears splayed, then drew herself up with all the dignity she could muster. “If you insist upon this...”

“We do!” all four tigers chorused, beaming.

The antelope couldn't hold in a laugh, softening. She took the suit in paw, sizing it up. “This is pretty small. How did Ray fit in it?”

“He didn't,” the last tiger replied. “We've got two; one our size, one yours. Just in case.”

Gazelle rolled her eyes. “As if I would _ever_ lose at cards.” She wriggled into the shorts, which were snug and surprisingly comfortable, with a hole just right for her tail to poke through. “Stop laughing, Geraldo.”

“Very chic!” he guffawed.

“Flattering!” Alfredo snickered.

Frowning, Gazelle slid on the crop top, tied the cape around her neck and the mask across her eyes, then stepped to a mirror. One look at herself in the complete ensemble and the irritated facade crumbled to giggles. She span round and snapped into a heroic pose, legs akimbo, paws on hips, head tilted to the heavens with a noble expression. The tigers crumpled.

The antelope had to fight to keep her own composure, but now she'd started, it only seemed right to properly play the part. She flung out a paw dramatically. “A new Zootopian hero is here, ready to thwart evil wherever it may dwell!” She announced, making her voice as loud and impressive as she could.

“Oh...my...stripes...” Raymondo wheezed.

“What have we done?!” Alberto wailed, even as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Gazelle began striding boldly around the room, chest out, head high, paws on hips. “Come out, evil doers, so that I may thwart you!”

“Sorry,” Alfredo gasped, listing against a bench, “but we're...too busy dying...of laughter...”

The antelope marched indignantly up to him. “So you think I'm funny, do you?”

Fred howled, slipping completely to the floor; Ray was already there, pounding the tiles with a paw; Bert was sitting against the lockers, his sides shaking; and Ral was rolling back and forth clutching himself.

Gazelle grinned. “Much better!” Then she slipped back into her super persona. “I must away, for evil sleeps not!”

She started running full tilt around the room, skipping over the tigers, cape billowing high behind her, arms stretched straight out in front of her like she was trying to take off; the tigers found a way to laugh even harder. After about four laps their mirth finally began to subside, and they got to their feet, Ray rummaging in his locker. He took out a spray can and a large paper plate.

The antelope wondered, briefly, what he was doing. On coming back round for one last lap she saw he'd filled the plate with a large dollop of the can's contents, whipped cream, and it was now held out right in her path. She slammed on the brakes, ears snapping vertical and eyes bulging, but too late. The splat echoed round the room.

Gazelle skidded to a halt, blinking through a face-full of cream, plate slowly sliding off, ears still bolt upright. The sound of the paper platter hitting the floor snapped her out of her stupor, and she turned slowly and deliberately to stare at Ray. The sight of an irate antelope with her whole head, most of her shoulders, and much of her upper chest and back slobbered in white only made him laugh harder.

When he eventually calmed, he had the good grace to look at least a little contrite. “Sorry. Couldn't resist.”

Gazelle huffed. “You're lucky I like whipped cream...” Then, in a blink, she'd clamped tightly onto Ray, nuzzling then giving him a firm, messy kiss on the end of the muzzle. “Sorry; couldn't resist!”

The other three tigers got exactly the same treatment – not that any of them exactly resisted – leaving them all equally cream-smeared and wearing matching expressions of confusion. Now it was the antelope's turn to laugh, heartily, even as cream ran down her slender frame and dripped on the floor.

When the mirth subsided, she found all four big cats smiling fondly at her, warmth she returned. “So..who's going to help me clean up?”

The tigers exchanged glances, nodded to each other, than advanced on Gazelle. They swept her up with no resistance and carried her to the shower, a space more than large enough to accommodate all five of them, the ceiling a sheet of metal perforated with numerous holes.

Alfredo pushed a button and water cascaded like rich, warm rain onto them. The antelope found herself cocooned by striped fur; many paws eased her outfit off, then four tongues started lapping the cream from her fur. She laughed, briefly made a less-than-serious attempt to fend them off and wriggle free, then with a long-suffering sigh surrendered to their tender attentions.

Of course, Gazelle wasn't about to let it all be one-way traffic, so she made an effort to lick clean whatever patches of orange and black pelt she could reach. The tigers started faintly purring, to her delight, and attending to each other a little, but most of their focus remained on the antelope in their midst, even after all the cream was gone.

Almost every strand of fur on Gazelle's lithe form, and decent areas of every cat, had been softly groomed by the time they finally released her. She made a point of giving each a long, warm hug and kiss on the mouth, then rinsed herself in the shower rain, letting the water sluice through her coat for several seconds, then turned it off and started for the benches and lockers.

The tigers followed, their smiles as broad as hers; heavy towels were applied to sodden fur in a silence most contented. Once dry enough, clothes were tugged, buttoned, slipped and zipped on – simple shirts and slacks in pastel hues for the cats, a long halter top and knee-length skirt in shimmering silver and white for the antelope.

It was only as they were turning to leave, bags slung over shoulders, that Raymondo remembered his camera. He moved to collect it, then froze on noticing the blinking red light.

He swallowed. “I uh...I seem to have left my camera on...”

Gazelle's head lilted. “As in...recording...?”

“Yes.” He nodded guiltily, turning it off. “Everything we did.”

“Ah.” The antelope frowned. “And it's continuous from the dance?”

“Yes.” Ray's ears sagged further.

“That could be a problem...” Gazelle stroked her chin in thought.

“No kidding!” Alberto's eyes were wide. “What if a reporter got hold of it? They'd have a field day.”

“Can it be edited?” Gazelle asked, still calm.

“I know someone trustworthy who could trim it down,” Raymondo answered, “but they're on vacation and won't be back for a week and a half, at least.”

The antelope sighed, pinching the bridge of her muzzle. “Well, since I don't want to lose that dance, keep it safe until they get back, then get it trimmed.”

“I will.” Ray nodded determinedly. “What should I do with the rest of it? Just delete it?”

Gazelle mused a moment, then looked to all the tigers. “I believe we should vote on it. I say keep it. Fred?”

“Keep,” he decided, after a pause, though not looking entirely sure.

“Bert?”

“Delete,” came the firm response.

“Ral?”

“Keep.” He smiled faintly. “You in that outfit is too priceless to lose.”

“Ray?”

Raymondo took the longest to decide, staring intently at his camera as he thought things over. Eventually, with a sigh, he replied. “Keep.”

“Four to one; it'll be kept.” Gazelle patted Alberto's side. “But _only_ to be seen by us. No-one but us and your friend, Raymondo, must know it even exists.” She frowned again. “I never, _ever_ want any of us to be ashamed of what just happened. I don't want it sullied.”

Four striped heads nodded vigorous agreement.

Gazelle's smile returned, as vibrant as ever. “After all, what is there to be ashamed of in enjoying the company of those you're closest to?”

Ray tucked his camera into his bag. “Absolutely nothing.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of little moments in the film led me to believe Gazelle and her dancers had quite a close relationship. Add that to the influence of a friend with a penchant for innocently messy fun and my own oddball proclivities, and this slice of goofy, knockabout fluff is the result.


End file.
